


night is the morning's canvas

by HunterPeverell



Series: Trying (and Failing at) Spooky Prompts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Clint Barton, Comics/Movie Crossover, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Well - Freeform, more like bleed-through, photographer bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-20 23:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12444534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: In which Bucky is a monster, Steve is an artist, and people are going missing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And another fic! Okay, well, this one was more I started it about a year ago and got four pages in and then stopped writing. Except a few weeks ago I picked it up again and basically finished it in one day and have been fine-tuning it since. Hope you guys like it!

_Night is the morning's Canvas_

_Larceny - legacy -_

_Death, but our rapt attention_

_To Immortality._

\--Excerpt from Emily Dickenson’s poem _The Feet of People Walking Home_

“Have you seen my phone?” Bucky called, patting uselessly at his pockets though the only thing in them was the fob with his car and apartment keys. His bulging messenger bag, slung across his body, was a heavy weight. 

“Did you leave it on the island?” Steve’s voice, muffled as it was by several walls, portrayed his exasperation clearly.

Bucky tramped over to the island and blinked down at the table top. He saw three browning bananas—he made a mental note to turn them into banana bread soon—, a blue charge cord with no device attached, and a veritable collage of post-it notes in both his and Steve’s handwriting.

“It’s not here!” he shouted. “I’m running behind. I’ll be back by seven!”

“Sure,” Steve replied, probably already returning his attention to his work. Bucky smiled to himself and marched back over to the door, flinging it open and letting himself out. He took the stairs two at a time, all the way down the three floors. Outside, he could smell the faint, constant tang of the general New York pollution and the closer scent of car exhaust.

Bucky’s Jeep was parked a few spots away, near the exit. As he made his way over, he unslung his bag and held it in one hand as he unlocked the door and swung himself inside. He plopped the bag in the passenger seat before grabbing an Aux cord and plugging in his iPod. When he turned on the car, the opening notes of _Waiting for Love_ came on.

Singing quietly to himself, Bucky backed out and pointed the Jeep in the direction of the exit. “ _Monday left me broken, Tuesday I was through with hoping, Wednesday my empty arms were open Thursday waiting for love, waiting for love…_ ”

The street next to the apartments wasn’t too busy, but Bucky still had to pay attention as he drove around the insane New York drivers. “ _Thank the stars it's Friday, I'm burning like a fire gone wild on Saturday, guess I won't be coming to church on Sunday, I'll be waiting for love, waiting for love, to come around…_ ”

With good music in the air, the sun shining brightly from the sky, and a small smile playing about his lips, Bucky left Brooklyn, and the greater New York City, behind.

***

Catskills Mountains was a national forest three hours from Brooklyn. Bucky often made his way there for photos to sell and to hang around his and Steve’s apartment.

Bucky was a photographer, often hired by _National Geographic, Let’s Take a Hike, Landscape,_ and other companies who dealt with photos of nature. His camera took up the most space in his messenger bag, but there were a few energy bars, a notebook, and a some other odds and ends he’d crammed in there as well at some point.

The Catskills Mountains was an enormous stretch of forest and wild lands. The trees spread for miles, and as Bucky parked the Jeep and got out, he paused a moment to appreciate the view.

Trees spread out before him, a rippling canvas of muzzy greens and flourishing browns. The scattered vibrant yellow-green dotted the canopy, wisping and threading through other, darker neighbors.

Bucky sucked in a breath, reveling in the crisp air, the hints of moss and clear spring water and the dancing aftertastes of stony minerals and rich dirt darting across his tongue.

When he was finally finished, he was only three or four miles in and on one of the hiking trails. Double checking that no one was around him, Bucky reached inside and felt his magic swirl beneath his skin. Though Bucky had never seen a physical representation of his magic, it always felt delicate and strong at the same time, woven together, braided until it was as unyielding as steel.

Like many silk threads bound together.

With barely a thought, Bucky wished himself deeper into the forest.

Here, there was barely any foot space. Timber and plants covered the entire area, dead leaves molded around the bases of jagged, mossy trunks and gathered in the gnarled hollows. Birds sang in the distance, but where Bucky was, all was quiet. The animals could sense his intrusion. They could sense a predator had appeared in their midst.

Bucky began striding forward and his messenger bag shifted with his movements so that it bumped the back of his thigh, not the front. He brushed several branches out of his way, aiming for an outcrop of grey rock, covered in moss and lichen. When he reached it, he rested his hand against the rough surface and trailed his fingers along it as he made his way around it.

There, tucked away from even the most adventurous of explorers, was a small, natural cave.

Bucky had discovered it decades ago, when he had needed to solace of solitude. Forests had always reminded him of his home far across the ocean.

As Bucky climbed down, hands on gritty, damp rock, he took the time to breathe. The air here was clean, something he missed when he was in the City. It smelled like minerals and cold, wet earth. There was a slight breeze coming from deep within the cave, and its chilly touch caressed his face.

The way down was steep and jagged rocks poked and scraped at his skin. Bucky resolutely continued down, seeing just fine even as the darkness began to descend.

Then, just as the daylight disappeared behind a lip of sediments, Bucky was surrounded by a soft, colorful glow.

Around him, massive silken webs stretched about, covering every surface with their billowy elegance. Several strands glowed golden, rose pink, fern green, and robin egg blue. He reached out to touch a strand, feeling it between his fingers.

He caught a few strands between his fingers, breathing his magic along their cells until they were pulsating with glowing colors. With a shout—of joy, of relief—he tossed it into the air, willing with to catch on the cave walls, looping and shimmering until they formed a silken vine with delicate flowers dotting the sides. With a smile at his little creation, he stepped further into the cave.

There, far from human eyes, he began to change with a sigh that felt like coming home.


	2. Chapter 2

When Bucky returned, twenty minutes before seven, he found Steve pacing up and down in their small living room.

“Bucky!” his best friend shouted as soon as Bucky opened the door. “You’re okay!”

Bucky blinked, finished stepping into the apartment, and closed the door behind him. “What? Yeah…”

“Mrs. Chadwick’s gone missing,” Steve said grimly.

Mrs. Chadwick ran a homeless shelter Bucky and Steve volunteered at regularly. Bucky felt his stomach lurch. “What are the police saying?”

Steve’s face crumpled. “They’re saying she might be dead.”

“Oh Steve,” Bucky said, crossing the room and scooping his friend up into a hug, breathing in the scent of his skin and hair. “She’ll be okay. The police’ll find her or something.”

Steve’s pale, shaken expression didn’t waver. Bucky felt his heart sink at the sight of it.

“What?” he asked quietly. “What aren’t you tell me?”

“We heard it all the way up here,” Steve said, his eyes locked on Bucky’s, as if willing Bucky to believe him.

“Heard what?”

Bucky didn’t want to know, didn’t want Steve involved in anything not human, but he needed to know why Steve, his brave Steve, had such fear in his eyes.

“It was like … growling,” Steve said, hesitating dripping from each word, unsure as he was that Bucky wouldn’t believe him. “Howling, sometimes. It was … God, Buck, everyone’s scared outta their fucking minds…”

“What?” Bucky stared at Steve, horrified. “What do you mean the howling?”

“Like a beast, or something,” Steve elaborated. “I—maybe something escaped the zoo or something. But she’s … God, Buck, it was horrible…”

Bucky closed his eyes, cast out a web of magic around him, felt for Mrs. Chadwick.

“I know,” he heard himself say. “I know.”

Steve left the room, Bucky heard him stomp off towards his bedroom, heard him slam the door shut, heard his own heart thud in his ears.

He opened his eyes once more, let them drift to the ceiling, where a spider had made its home, spinning its web, waiting for its next meal.

Bucky’s fingers twitched, his eyes narrowed.

Then he let his eyes drift away and moved deeper into his own nest to begin making dinner.

 

***

 

“The Avengers are at a loss,” the newswoman said. “The recent disappearances don’t seem to be linked to any of the usual suspects—Dr. Doom still remains behind bars, and others such a the Green Goblin and the surviving cells of HYDRA have been quiet. We have some of the Avengers here for a word to the press…”

The three people who strode onto the stage behind her were faces Bucky vaguely recognized, though they were clean and molded into serious postures instead of dirty and panting from an ongoing battle, captured in shaking footage.

“Thank you for coming,” the first said, a black man with kind hazel eyes. “My name is Sam Wilson. Behind me is Sharon Carter and Clint Barton. We would like to speak to you all today about the missing persons. Let me begin by saying the Avengers are doing everything we can to locate and rescue these people…”

Bucky clicked out of the YouTube video which had streamed mere hours before and sighed heavily through his nose.

Two weeks had passed since the disappearance of Mrs. Chadwick, and in that time, eight more people had gone missing. The police, the Avengers, other various organizations—all were at a loss.

Bucky shut his laptop lid and reached for his keys and wallet.

“Steve!” he shouted, standing up and striding out of his room. “I’m going out!”

“I’m coming with!” was Steve’s muffled response.

Bucky paused at the door, waiting. Noises of Steve getting ready wafted to his ears, and Bucky leaned back and looked up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. Lazily, he ran his tongue over his teeth, and he idly toyed with the idea of returning to the Catskills to hunt. It’d be fun, perhaps, and it’d certainly be enjoyable. This weekend ought to be time enough. He could tell Steve he was camping. He did that, when the need to hunt shifted from an favored idea to an itch.

_Is now really the best time, though?_ Bucky thought as he heard Steve’s keys jangled to the floor. Surely he could wait, just to make sure Steve didn’t do something stupid and get himself killed.

Hunting could wait. Now wasn’t the best time. Mind resolved, though his mood slightly dampened, Bucky lifted his head from the wall as Steve clattered out of his studio.

“Ready?” Bucky asked.

Steve gave him a short nod, a tense smile.

“I’d be fine, you know,” Bucky murmured as they left the apartment. “I wouldn’t get taken.”

“You never know,” Steve mumbled, his brow furrowed and his expression dark.

The walk to the store was short, just a few blocks over, and their fellow New Yorkers pushed past them much as they always did.

It was difficult to remember to be scared when faced with sun-drenched status quo.

While in the store, Steve wandered off to get milk and eggs and yoghurt for Bucky while Bucky looked over the gluten-free breads, searching for the brand he knew Steve prefered.

When he had finally found it, he turned to meet back up with Steve and pick up the meals for the next week when someone tapped his shoulder.

Glancing over to see a grizzled old woman, Bucky smiled and tip his head down.

“I’d give you something,” he murmured, “but I have nothing that is mine to give here that you would accept.”

“An appreciated offer,” the old woman said. “But I did not come here for a social visit.”

“I suspected as much, Old One,” Bucky said. “But still, I wish that your hearth warms your bones and the milk you drink is sweet.”

“Thank you,” she croaked. “It is good to see you, too, Păianjen.”

“How may I help you?”

“I want to discuss the disappearances,” the Old One said. “What do you know?”

“That the Avengers are handling it.”

“Bah! The Avengers cannot help us. You know this is not their area.” She fixed her eyes on Bucky. “You know this is one of ours.”

Bucky sighed. “I had suspected. The Circle has given no word, though.”

She snorted, a bit of mucus dripping from her nose. “The Circle has looked into it. It is not someone within their sphere of influence.”

Bucky blinked. “We’re talking about New York. There is little the Circle _doesn’t_ have influence over.”

“Ah, but the Beasts of this land are ancient,” the Old One said. “We are standing on borrowed, stolen soil, Păianjen. The creatures of this land still exist.”

Bucky pressed his lips together. “I’ll look into it.”

The Old One chuckled and reached out, stroking one crooked finger down his face. “I trust you will. I approach _you,_ Păianjen. Do you know why?”

Curious, unknowing, Bucky tilted his head to the side. “No.”

“Because I know you’ll find it,” she breathed. “And you’ll scoop them right into your web.”

Bucky blinked, and the Old One had vanished.

“Who was that?” Steve asked a few minutes later.

“Someone who knew my Ma,” Bucky lied without hesitation.

Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

“I was thinking salad for you tonight, chicken parm for me,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded and dismissed the woman from his mind. “Sounds good.”

 

***

 

Life continued on, afterwards, much the same as it had before and yet with something tangibly _different_ —a new sort of fear the inhabitants of New York City couldn’t shake.

Bucky tried to ignore it. It wasn’t that he was trying to ignore the Old One’s advice, but Bucky wasn’t looking for trouble. He avoided anything that seemed even remotely dangerous and that threatened the life he’d built for himself.

However, it seemed that the universe wanted to spice up his life, for when Bucky came into the apartment one day after seeing Steve off to a friend’s gallery and picking up more groceries, he found an Avenger lying unconscious on his couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop a comment or a kudos on your way out!


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky dropped the groceries onto the floor, but the Avenger barely stirred.

“The fuck?” Bucky mumbled to himself, creeping up to the couch, silent, and peering down at the intruder.

Dressed in a dark purple combat outfit with a mask covering his face and what seemed to be an empty arrow quiver, Bucky vaguely recognized him as one of the main spokespeople for the Avengers.

Birdman? Arrowwing? Something like that. It was bird related.

Bucky assessed the man, trying to figure out why he was here. There wasn’t any sight or smell of blood, and the man, though dirty, didn’t seem to be injured in anyway. Just unconscious. On Bucky’s couch.

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic, trying to prod the air around the man and find out if any magic encased him.

What Bucky found was a literal shitstorm of magic, so strong it left him reeling. The man was _covered_ in magic, wrapped up so tightly it was as if he was enfolded in a magical cocoon.

“Well, shit,” Bucky mumbled.

It seemed the most recent magic was a Sleeping Spell, sung to the man by a Fae. Bucky hadn’t turned on the news, but he’d heard whispering from the people in the streets and knew the Avengers had been busy in the Bronx, where a strong Fae population resided.

So, this guy had probably run afoul of a Sleeping Curse. That was a Fae favorite and Bucky had seen it a few times before, and while he knew what to do, Bucky hoped that there wasn’t an alarm placed on the Curse that would send hoards of Fae after him for messing up their fun.

He couldn’t just leave an Avenger on his couch, though. So, with a grimace, Bucky settled down beside the couch and began to weave a counter-curse.

Bucky wasn’t sure how long he sat there, swaying to the beat of his heart. He wove and spun, eyes flickering behind his eyelids, his fingers skittering across his knees. He pieced apart which strands of magic were the Fae and which were older, stronger. Some of it was magic Bucky had never seen before, but he remembered the Chitauri attack. Alien magic. Space magic.

He left that alone.

He was glad the gala lasted for hours, because by the time he was done, the sun was sinking down and the ice cream he had bought was mostly melted. With a groan, Bucky stood and stumbled his way to the kitchen, where he put away the food he’d bought hours ago.

Just as he was putting away some juice, he heard a groan from the couch.

“Hey,” he said, inserting cautiousness into his tone. “Uh, you awake?”

He rounded the corner to find a gun pointed at him. Bucky immediately raised his hands, palms out.

“Look, uh, Avenger guy,” Bucky said. “I just found you on my couch, okay, I didn’t do anything.”

The man blinked. “Right.”

He didn’t lower the gun.

Bucky stayed where he was.

“Look,” he tried again. “I swear to God or whatever that I don’t know anything—”

“I got that,” the guy interrupted. “And I don’t think you did squat. Just, uh, give me a moment.”

Bucky kept quiet as the man calmed down and, eventually, lowered his gun.

“Sorry,” the guy offered. “Weird day.”

Bucky nodded, slow and smooth. “I’d guessed.”

“Name’s Clint,” the man said. “You got any grub?”

And that was how Steve found them, chewing on oven-baked pizza and sipping apple juice from wine glasses because Bucky hadn’t gotten the dishes done that afternoon.

“Do I even want to know?” Steve asked from the doorway, staring at them.

Bucky offered him a lazy grin as Clint shot him a wave and a “Hey!”

And this was how, inexplicably, Bucky found an Avenger’s phone number in his contacts.

 

***

 

Bucky, as a general rule, liked to keep to the shadows. He liked to keep out of things, to watch from his corner as the world descended into chaos. But the Old One had approached him, and Bucky wasn’t one to ignore them. If the Old One felt the need to ask him to get involved, well…

 

***

He started a few days after Clint’s stint on his couch. A ninth victim had been taken and New Yorkers were getting frightened.

Bucky slipped out of the apartment one night and went prowling out, passing the word to anyone he could that he was looking for information.

People were surprised to see him, cloaked in darkness with shining eyes watching them from the shadows. He made them nervous, but not afraid. They knew he wasn’t the enemy here.

Bucky waited for information to trickle in, spinning webs between his fingers and sliding beams of light down the strings. Those who approached him watched the light, watched the web, told them what they knew.

It wasn’t much. Bucky learned that there were actually eleven victims, but the first two weren’t counted because the police hadn’t connected the disappearances of the “runaway” teenager from a troubled home and a “good-for-nothing” prostitute with to good, Church-going old lady and the mother-of-four-with-three-jobs.

Bucky wasn’t able to figure out where they had all disappeared, not until a few nights later when an odious call got him out of bed.

He slipped from his room and prowled over to the window in the living room, where the fire escape jutted out from the side of the building, clinging to the old stone. Opening the window and breathing in the foul air, Bucky looked around for the messenger.

There, squatting on the steps above him, a goblin hunkered down against the slight wind.

It was only two feet tall, and its pale grey-green flesh was speckled with dark liver spots. Its pig-snouted nose dripped grey snot, its little stubby canines protruded over its lips, and its wide black eyes seemed disproportionately large when compared to its flat, squishy face.

“Make it quick,” it grunted. “I wanted t’ make Jimmy wet da bed ‘gain.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to know what you’re up to in your spare time, Narding.”

The goblin snickered. “Watch it, then.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Got any news?”

“Sewers,” Narding said.

“Sewers,” Bucky replied flatly.

Narding bobbed his head, his whole plump little body jiggling with the movement. “Ev’ryone ‘ho went missin’ went missin’ ‘round ‘n entrance to da sewers.”

“And you didn’t think to tell the Circle?” Bucky asked flatly.

Narding giggled, his bat ears wiggling with his mirth. “Oh no, not Narding. Ain’t got nuttin’ t’ say t’ dem!”

Bucky clicked at the back of his throat, his eyes misting with shadow. “Narding.”

Narding looked Bucky in the face and paled. “Ain’t mean nuttin’, ain’t mean nuttin’.”

Bucky’s eyes returned to normal. “I bet you don’t. Now get. I don’t need to see you ‘round here.”

Nardin hopped up the steps, his mass quivering with each movement. “Sure thing, sweet cheeks.”

Bucky stayed there for a moment, watching the little goblin hobble away.

“So,” said Steve. “What was that?”

Bucky yelped, nearly falling off the window sill where he had perched himself. He gripped the frame, steadying himself, and stared at Steve.

Steve, who was standing next to the breakfast bar which separated their kitchen from their living room. Steve, whose arms were crossed, his eyebrows raised above the rims of his glasses. Steve, who was looking directly at Bucky.

“Uh,” Bucky said, eloquently.

Steve snorted. “Close the window, Buck, it’s getting chilly.”

Bucky swung his legs over the sill and stood, slamming the window shut behind him.

In the sudden absence of the cars and nightlife of of New York City, the silence of the apartment was stark and electric.

“So,” said Steve. “Sit.”

Bucky sat on the couch.

“Explain,” said Steve.

Bucky stayed quiet.

There was a moment in which Steve and Bucky looked at one another, dark eyes and blue eyes and the silvered shadows of the nighttime.

The moonlight which filtered in through the window lit up Steve’s already pale face, turning his cheeks into sharp canyons, his eyes to a lighter shade of blue, his lips a darker blue. In the misty, muzzy hum of their silence, Bucky took a moment to trace his eyes across Steve’s face, a path well-worn by his eyes these last few years.

“Much as I like that look on you,” Steve said, his voice lower and less abrasive than before, “I want answers.”

“I don’t know where to start…”

“How about whatever the fuck that thing was,” Steve replied flatly.

“A goblin.”

Steve blinked. He blinked again.

“You know what?” he said. “There’s men in flying suits and women with glowing red powers. Yeah, sure, goblins exist.”

“We’re creatures of the old world,” Bucky said. “Not Europe, but the time before the Industrial Revolution, before science and technology tucked us away like fairy tales.”

Steve rubbed his eyes behind his glasses and slowly began walking, as if each time he raised his feet it was in an afterthought.

“Okay,” he said. “So … basically monsters and fairies exist.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you?”

Bucky pressed his lips together, hard, bleaching a ring of stark white around the dark red of his lips. “Not sure it’ll be something you’re familiar with. But those disappearances…”

“One of you guys?” Steve demanded.

Bucky hesitated. “Not … not one of us, per se. There are two distinct categories of us: those who are beasts and those who are not. Those who are not are people like me, like Narding, like the Old One…”

“Who?”

“The other day at the store,” Bucky said.

“The old woman, Steve murmured.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “She’s a domovoi. A kind of house spirit. She’s been here for centuries.”

A thought seemed to occur to Steve. “How—how old are you, Buck?”

Bucky stared at him, his eyes searching Steve’s. “You really want me to answer that?”

Steve closed his eyes against the weight of Bucky’s and said, clearly, “Yes.”

“A little over six hundred years old,” Bucky said. “I—I was born in Romania. Deep in the forests. I did not discover humanity until I was already a century old.”

Steve opened his eyes. “Did you—?”

“Are you asking if I killed those people?” Bucky asked. “Because the answer is no.”

“I’m asking if you killed people.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ve been in wars. I’ve been hunted. I’ve been hurt, almost killed. Yeah, Steve, I’ve killed. I don’t like it, but I’ve killed.”

Steve nodded, and the look in his eyes told Bucky he was going to come back to that.

There was a moment of silence, where Bucky stared at the ceiling and Steve rested his chin in his clenched fist.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said.

“Sorry? For what?” Steve lifted his head and stared directly into Bucky’s eyes. “Sorry that you lied to me, or sorry that I found out?”

Bucky looked away from Steve’s challenging glare. “Both.”

“Least you’re honest now,” Steve muttered. “What’s killing everyone?”

“Something in the sewers,” Bucky said. “Don’t know what, but Narding got me that close, at least.”

“I’m coming with you to check it out.”

Bucky stared at Steve, who stared right back.

“No,” Bucky said.

“Yes,” Steve said.

Bucky felt his lip curl up. “Steve, I’m not taking you with me.”

Steve stood up, and though he was shorter than Bucky by a good few inches, now that Bucky was sitting he had to crane his neck up to look at Steve.

“I’m coming with you,” Steve said. “You leave me behind, I’ll follow anyway. The sewers, right?”

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered.

Steve stepped back, allowing Bucky to breathe.

“I’m coming,” Steve said.

Bucky sucked in air through his nose. “Fine.”

“Swear?” Steve challenged.

A test, Bucky knew. Just because humanity had repressed their memories of the old creatures of the world didn’t mean they had forgotten everything—such as the weight of oaths.

“I swear,” Bucky murmured.

Steve nodded once, cold and distant, and turned on his heel. Bucky wondered if Steve even realized how dangerous it was, turning his back on someone like Bucky.

He didn’t think so—Steve wasn’t one to think about danger, wasn’t one to dwell on anything but the injustices he saw before his eyes.

The air prickled between the two, unfriendly and angry. Steve’s shoulders were hunched in, his fists balled as he marched away to his room.

The door slammed shut behind him. Bucky flinched, closing his eyes, wishing he’d been a bit more careful.

 

***

 

Bucky lay in his nest of blankets later that night staring up at the ceiling.

He had met Steve at college. Steve studied art, Bucky photography. They were in the same hall, two doors down, and they had a class at the same time, in the same building. They’d walk together down the hall to the elevator—living on the tenth floor left neither of them wanting to take the stairs.

Over time, they’d talk. They’d make one another laugh. They’d smile at one another. Over time, they began to hang out. They’d share music. They’d invite the other over to their room.

Over time, they became friends.

After college, Steve and Bucky agreed to live with one another and, six years later, they were still living together.

Bucky had never had a friend like Steve before.

The glare, the balled-up fists, the angered hunch of his shoulders … Bucky flinched away from that and wondered, as he closed his eyes in a futile search for sleep, if they were even still friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote part of this today ahhhh if there are any mistakes please tell me!


	4. Chapter 4

Tension simmered in the air of the apartment the next day, and Bucky found himself picking at his breakfast slowly, anxiously. Sunlight streamed in through the window, the warm autumn light hinting at the future chill that was hurtling closer to them.

The early hours of the morning passed with Bucky avoiding Steve as best he could and Steve wandering around with his brow furrowed, in deep thought. Neither of them had gotten any sleep the night before—Bucky had heard Steve pacing his studio at four o’clock.

Bucky had just settled on the couch with a book in hand, trying to do anything to keep his mind off of everything when Steve entered the room.

Bucky immediately rose, tossing the book aside and ready to duck out of the room so that Steve didn’t have to look at him when Steve held up his hands and said, “No, Buck.”

A nickname was a good sign. Bucky stayed where he was, waiting for Steve to speak.

When he did, it was hesitant. Steve was never hesitant, but Bucky appreciated that Steve didn’t know how to handle this any more than Bucky did. “I’m not … I’m not mad. At you. For not telling me about everything. I’m just…”

“What?”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes. “Shocked.”

“Not scared?”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “You’ve known me for years now, Buck. If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”

“I mean,” Bucky said. “You never know. Maybe I wanted you for some nefarious plan.”

“The fact that you said ‘nefarious’ just kinda tells me exactly what I need to know,” Steve told him. “I guess I’m confused.”

“That’s understandable,” Bucky said, running his fingers through his hair. “This is rather a lot, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, coming and taking a seat near Bucky. Bucky sank back down. “What are you gonna do now that I know?”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, nothing’s gonna happen to you, you know. I’m not gonna wipe your memory or something.”

“That’s a relief,” Steve said, tone dry.

“Oh my God, shut up,” Bucky said. “You’re such a strange person, anybody ever tell you?”

“Everyday of my life,” Steve said cheerfully, and some of the tension left the air between the two of them.

They shared a small, tentative smile, and Bucky and Steve understood without speaking that they would both continue forward, together.

“So,” Steve said, breaking the silence. “You’ve been trying to find the missing people? Will you … Are you gonna find Mrs. Chadwick?”

Bucky’s heart ached for the kind old woman, but he said, “I’ll look, but it’s been weeks. She’s probably dead, Steve.”

Steve bowed his head. “I hope not.”

“I hope not, either,” Bucky admitted. “But I’m trying to not lie, here.”

Steve reached out and pressed his cold fingertips to Bucky’s cheek. “I know. Thank you.”

Then Steve got up and left the room, leaving Bucky sitting alone on the couch.

 

***

 

“These things are shit,” Clint said one day, cheerfully gesturing to his hearing-aids.

“I thought you had, like, Stark-approved ones,” Bucky said as he sipped his coffee. When he had awoke that morning to find Clint bustling about his kitchen, he’d been warily bemused, but had taken the Avenger up on the offer of coffee.

“I lost ‘em,” Clint said. “I’ll find them soon. Or Nat will. Either way, they’ll turn up. Or maybe Stark will just make me new ones. Hard to tell with him.”

Bucky laughed, rolling his shoulder a bit as he settled against the back of his chair. “I know a bit of Sign, if that helps.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “You do? Cool. I mean, you’re facing me and all, so I’m fine. But lotta people don’t know Sign.”

“Most people are thickheaded and think you need to bend over backwards to accommodate _them,_ ” Bucky pointed out.

Clint raised his mug. “Here, here!”

Bucky clinked it, and they shared a grin.

“Honestly, though, it’s fucking infuriating,” Clint said. “But I get by. Having Tony Stark on speed dial works wonders for my way of life.”

“What, endless pizzas?” Bucky asked.

Clint clapped a hand to his heart. “I didn’t think we knew each other well enough to drop truth bombs like that!”

Bucky laughed, but laughed even harder when Clint knocked over his mug and shouted, “Aw, coffee!”

 

***

 

That day, Bucky, Steve, and Clint wandered around the blocks and entered stores, trying on stupid hats and sunglasses, daring each other to strut about in the most ridiculous getups. Eventually, Steve was trying to walk around with a glittering boa, a sombrero, and martini sunglasses while Clint—dressed in a frilly blue evening gown with a bowler hat and a fake mustache—and Bucky—who wore short-shorts, a crop top, and thigh-high socks—rolling on the ground laughing as Steve kept stumbling over the boa.

“Wow,” Steve said, unimpressed, when they came up for air. “I love how my taxpayer money is going to the Avengers who spend their days like this.

Clint shot him a lazy grin. “What, making sure the people are healthy and happy? Fuck yeah.”

Steve—whose “serious” expression had been wavering—cracked up, and the three of them were laughing so hard the owner of the store asked them to redress themselves and leave.

“Honestly,” Clint said as they stumbled out. “This has been a great day. Don’t get much of those around the Tower, what with Ross breathing down our necks.”

“The Accords?” Bucky asked.

Clint said nothing, just shrugged. That was when his phone beeped.

“Gotta go,” he said, reading over the text. “I’ll catch you two soon. Maybe.”

“Bye,” Steve said as Clint jogged away.

“What the fuck is my life?” Bucky mumbled to Steve, who offered him nothing but a smirk.

 

***

 

“Buck?” Steve asked, pausing in the doorway of Bucky’s bedroom where Bucky was spinning a web between his fingers. “What’s up?”

“I think I narrowed it down,” Bucky said. “Where the creature is.”

He felt more than heard Steve stand at his side. “Yeah?” There was tentative hope in his voice, hesitating elation.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed, staring down at the computer in front of him, where a map of the area shone. “Yeah.”

“You’re still letting me come with?”

“So long as you stay where I tell you.” He bumped his arm against Steve’s. “And I mean that. This is monsters and magic and there’s nothing you can do.”

“What if it kills you?”

“Call Clint,” Bucky said. “And I won’t die. I have my escape routes.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, Steve. I set the web—everything else falls right on in. I’ll be just fine.”

 

***

 

The next day, he and Steve headed for the sewers.

It was easy enough for Bucky to sneak them down, as used to spinning shadows as he was. Once down, he set off, uncaring which direction.

“Bucky!” Steve hissed. “What’s our plan?”

Bucky found a dead end and stopped, leaning back against the wall. “We set a trap.”

Closing his eyes on Steve’s confused face, Bucky sent out a line down ways, guiding them down each tunnel, each twist and turn, each dead end.

“Buck?” Steve whispered.

“Hold on,” Bucky said. “Let me concentrate.”

Steve fell silent until Bucky was done.

When Bucky reopened his eyes, he let his tired gaze fall across Steve’s familiar face.

“What did you do?”

Bucky’s lips twitched. “I spread my web, so to say.”

Steve’s footfalls were soft, careful, as he joined Bucky against the wall, leaning back side-by-side.

“A web,” he mused. “You keep making references to that. Are you like Spider-Man?”

Bucky snorted. “Spider-Man is a human with superpowers.”

“But you … are actually a spider man,” Steve said.

“In a sense,” Bucky murmured. “The Japanese call us Jorōgumo. Driders in RPG games. We’re Weavers, Tricksters, gods. Most of us stay in shadows, hidden, waiting, watching.” He offered Steve a wan smile, as if to tell Steve he knew how dramatic he sounded. “That’s what my mother always told me.”

“What about your father.”

“Human, as all Jorōgumo’s fathers are,” Bucky said. “My mother ate him.”

“Oh,” was all Steve could say.

“We may look human most of the time,” Bucky said. “But we are not human.”

“You’re male,” Steve said. “Would you kill your … wife?”

“No,” Bucky said. “My line is dead. I will have no children. My mother went on to have more children. They will carry her genes.”

“Genes, and we’re talking about spider creatures,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, bit weird since you’re so new.”

It was then a few tremors ran along his web, violent, unceasing.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, pushing himself away from the wall. “This way!”

Steve followed Bucky as Bucky raced down the right passageway, barreling towards the disruptions.

The passage opened up into a large maintenance corridor, and Bucky and Steve skidded to a stop when they saw the Avengers fighting a creature.

It was large and dark, made of shadow more than any physical mass. It’s glowing blue eyes were wild and narrow, its teeth were as long as Iron Man who fired blast after blast into its maw. It struck out with a clawed foot, knocking Black Widow and Falcon into the wall.

There were too many Avengers in the space, and neither Falcon nor Iron Man could fly. Carter and Clint shot at it from either end of the passage, but their bullets and arrows simply faded through the beast’s bulk.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered. “Shitty-shit shit.”

“What _is_ that thing?” Steve breathed.

“A Mishibizhiw,” Bucky replied grimly. “A Water Panther.”

“Can they stop it?” Steve asked as Widow leapt over another paw and fired her blue electric pellets at it. They didn’t hurt it.

“No,” Bucky said.

“Can _you_ stop it?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said. “Just wish it wasn’t in front of humans.” He shot Steve a sideways glance. “I mean, more than just you.”

“Nice save,” Steve snarked. “It’s now or never.”

“The Circle is gonna kill me,” Bucky mumbled.

“Can you hide who you are?”

“Enough for facial recognition to fail,” Bucky said. “Stay back, Steve, please.” He turned to Steve. “This isn’t a story. You could die.”

Steve leveled a stare at him. “You could, too.”

Bucky ran his hand down the side of Steve’s face, gentle and slow. “I’m less likely to, though.”

With that, he stepped back and began to change.

His face elongated, his teeth grew sharp and pointed. The shadows seemed to collect across the ridges and creases of his face, trailing down his body softly until he seemed made more of darkness than of body. His eyes turned black and from the back of his throat, a clicking sound trickled through the air.

“Knock ‘im dead,” Steve said who, though pale at the sight of Bucky, looked at him head on.

Bucky nodded once and vanished into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love it if you could leave comment on your way out! Honestly, I have no clue how good this chapter is :p


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short (but I think necessary) chapter. Please let me know what you think! Next chapter will be up on Halloween :D

The Avengers, having tracked the creature down successfully and were doing their best to take it down, were failing miserably. The creature was unlike any they had ever seen before. It was no scientific experiment gone wrong nor alien creature wreaking havoc. They, frankly, hadn’t the slightest clue what they were up against.

What they did know was just when Stark was about to suggest they bomb the ever-loving hell out of it, the creature howled.

A hair-raising sound which had them flinching away, they watched as it writhed and cringed away from a particular spot near the wall, snarling and snapping at thin air.

Before their very eyes, the walls coalesced into a dark figure.

It was no man, that was for sure. The mass at the center seemed to have two eyes, a human-ish face with too many too-long teeth, but its body was nothing but shade. Legs seemed to grow from the blackness and spin off into the shadows of the sewers so that it seemed the body wasn’t so much a body but a shape anchored in the dark.

It made a clicking sound, and its already grotesquely-smiling lips pulling apart even wider.

“Need some help?” it hissed, and its voice was as soft as a whisper, as gentle and treacherous as a gossamer web.

Before any of them could answer, the creature struck.

The monster of blue shadow howled, skittering away from the creature of blackened shade.

The fight was unlike any the Avengers had ever seen. It danced in and out of shadow, darting between the physical plane the Avengers resided in and some other-world of nighttime and the creatures who lurked just out of sight. A swipe of the paw, a sidestep of the creature with too many legs. A stab of the shade’s shadowed barb, a duck of the enormous head.

On and on it went, circling and trading blows until, finally, it seemed that the creature with too many legs seemed to have gained the upper hand.

The creature misstepped and the shade pressed its advantage, leaping on top of it, encircling it with a sooty black web until the creature howled and bucked and strained against its bonds but could not escape.

Once it was fully bound, the shade—spider, perhaps, was more accurate—sat atop it and clicked excitedly.

“Uh,” Sam said. “Um.”

“Thank you for this,” the spider murmured, silken smooth, horrible words. “Very clever of you to find it.”

“What will you do with it?” Carter asked.

“Mmm,” the spider said, its shadow body growing larger and larger until it could, without strain, drag its captive into the world of shadow. “Eat it, perhaps.”

There was a shocked silence in which the spider looked up and smiled wide once more. “The circle of life, no?”

And with that, both the spider and the creature disappeared from their sight.

 

***

 

“What the fuck,” Clint said later when they were back in the Tower.

“No fucking idea,” Sam said, collapsing on the couch next to him. “Just … No damn clue.”

All of the Avengers were in various states of shock. They had seen aliens pouring onto New York City from the sky, they had seen swarms of robots, they had seen crazy men come up with the weirdest plans to conquer the world, but what they had seen today…

“Magic and monsters,” Clint said. “Something like that. Just. What the fuck.”

“Guys.” Stark’s voice, tense, came through JARVIS’s hidden speakers. “I think I found something on my cameras.”

Clint and Sam didn’t even look at each other before getting off the couch and racing up to Stark’s lab.

There, most of the Avengers had already gathered, looking up at one of the screens to see a blurry face of a human.

They had a mop of dirty-blonde hair, thick glasses, and wide eyes.

“JARVIS is working on identifying him,” Stark said.

“Don’t bother,” Clint said. “I know him.”

There was a beat.

“You know him?” Nat asked. Clint heard the unspoken _what have you been up to, Clint?_

Clint was, frankly, offended. He shot her a mock glare and saw her relax slightly.

“Let me go check it out,” Clint said.

“I’ll go with you,” Nat said.

“Hey, let me,” Sam interjected. He met her gaze head on. “I’m less likely to look like I’m about to bite their head off.”

Anyone but Nat would have pointed out that Nat could convey any emotion, but Nat just nodded, and Clint knew she was taking the out Sam was giving her—a chance to hang around the perimeters and leap in should it look like they needed help.

Sam really did add to the team.

“Alright,” Stark said, sounding annoyed. “Call us if you need us.”

“Sure thing, Stark,” Clint said before he, Nat, and Sam left the Tower.

They had an asthmatic artist to talk to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

_Three Days Earlier_

_“Let me draw it,” Steve murmured, his fingers trailing along one of Bucky’s webs._

_Bucky loved photography. He loved doodling, drawing. He loved watching Steve paint. But it was this, spinning his webs and lacing them with dazzling, gentle music, that he was truly performing his best medium._

_The webs stretched from one wall of his bedroom to another, anchored to the ceiling and to the floor, and in between, in that space which had no need for two dimensions, Bucky had spun Steve New York City, pearls of golden magic illuminating the webbed skyline._

_Steve stood before it, enraptured, hands fluttering at his sides as though he wished to reach out and touch the web but was afraid to ruin the image._

_“Let me draw it,” he repeated, his lips frozen around the words. “Not this, per se, but your art … Let me show you what I see of it. What I think of.”_

_Bucky drops his chin to Steve’s head and kisses his golden hair. “Of course.”_

_They don’t look at one another, they just stand there and look until the rising sun causes the lights of Bucky’s rendition of New York to wink out one by one._

_Bucky still had to locate the monster. He still had to protect his city. But, standing here beside Steve and Steve looked at his creations, he couldn’t help but think it was worth it._

_“Thank you,” Bucky said._

_Steve blinked over at him, eyes distant, drawn away from the beauty before them. “For what?”_

_Bucky breathed out a laugh. “For being here for me. For staying.”_

_Steve reached out and squeezed Bucky’s hand. There was a weight behind that movement, an intention that wasn’t there before. Neither of them acted on it; Steve’s hand dropped back to his side._

_“I wouldn’t leave,” Steve said. “Not after all this time.”_

 

***

 

“Did you really eat it?” Steve asked, lips pursed in disapproval.

“I was hungry,” Bucky whined. “Human food only does so much.”

“You don’t eat humans, do you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No. I eat, like, deer and stuff.”

“Catskills,” Steve said.

“Yeah.” Bucky rested his chin on top of Steve’s head. They were sat together on the couch, their legs pressed against one another, Steve’s torso on top of Bucky’s. Bucky’s arms were before them, one looping under Steve’s waist, and between his hands strands of webs beaded with silvery blue magic spread between his fingers like a cat’s cradle.

“I don’t need to eat fresh meat,” Bucky continued as he plucked at one of the strands, a chime like the clearest, sweetest bell ringing through their apartment. “But it tastes good.”

Steve snorted. “I suppose it’s no different from what we do to animals.”

“Yeah it is,” Bucky said. “You guys are usually cruel to your animals. It’s gotten better in some places but, wow. At least I kill my food quickly.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but it was a fond movement. “You’re an idiot.” That unspoken _tension_ rested between them once again.

Bucky ignored it and allowed the darkness to mist over his eyes, offering Steve a wink. “Yep.”

That was when Steve kissed him.

 

***

 

“Go out with me,” Bucky said later that night when they were curled up in Bucky’s nest of blankets and pillows (“Suddenly this makes sense,” said Steve as he stared at it. Bucky snorted and pulled him close against his chest.)

They had spent the last few hours napping and speaking to one another in low, rumbling voices. Steve had asked about Bucky and Bucky had told Steve about what he'd been doing over the last few years.

Steve blinked up at him, wiping the sleep crumbs away from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you, a six-hundred year old spider, asking me, a short asthmatic mortal human, to go out with you?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, giddy and drunk in his happiness and Steve’s presence.

“Then yes,” Steve said, turning his head and pressing his smile against Bucky’s chest. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

Bucky didn’t have anywhere to hide his own grin, but he didn't want to.

He didn’t need to hide from Steve.

 

***

 

When Bucky opened the door the day after the attack in the sewers, it was with great surprise that he found Clint and another Avenger (Falcon, was it?) on the other side.

“Hi,” said Clint with a jaunty grin. “Can we come in?”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed past Bucky and headed straight for the coffee machine.

“Sorry,” Falcon said before following Clint inside.

“Uh,” Bucky said as he closed the door behind the Avengers. “Sure.”

“Sorry to barge in,” Falcon said. “I’m Sam. Sam Wilson.”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky said. “How can I help you guys?”

“Bucky?” Steve shouted from his studio. “Who is it?”

“Some coffee-stealing celebrities,” Bucky shouted back.

“Haha,” Steve yelled, but the clatter told Bucky Steve was joining them.

“Can I get you anything?” Bucky asked Sam, since Clint was already helping himself to coffee.

“Nah man, I’m good.”

Steve appeared, his blonde hair tousled and his brow pinched together in a glare of concentration.

“Sorry to drag you away from your work,” Bucky said.

Steve blinked at the two Avengers in their apartment.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope.”

“There’s a superhero in our kitchen. And Clint.”

“Hey,” Clint protested as he pour himself a mug. “Neither of us have superpowers! And I’m a hero.”

“Is that why you’re saving us from the liquid addiction?” Steve shot back.

“Totally,” Clint said, keeping a serious face as he lifted his mug to his lips. “It’s great, though. I got good aim, he’s got wings. Together, we make a whole bird.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a real comedian, Clint. So, whatcha doing here? Don’t you have, like, debriefing and stuff after your resounding victory from yesterday?”

“Press is wild,” Steve said.

“Throwing accolades, they are.” Bucky nodded.

“Oh, stuff it, you two,” Clint said.

“We we’re trying to find someone,” Sam interrupted. “Someone who might have seen something yesterday.”

Steve blinked at him. “Okay…”

There was a moment of silence as Sam stared and Steve, Steve stared as Sam, Bucky looked between them both, and Clint helped himself to a handful of dry cereal.

“You were seen near the scene,” Sam finally explained, his eyes sharp on Steve’s face.

Bucky, feeling eyes on him, looked away from Steve and Sam to see Clint watching him.

“I was?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Wow, man, it’s almost like I live around here.”

Sam pulled a high-tech phone out of his pocket and showed Steve a picture. It was grainy and blown up, as if taken from a great distance. It was from the sewers, though, and Steve was poking his head around the corner.

“Iron Man’s camera caught you,” Sam said. “Now, why would a broke Brooklyn artist be in the sewers at that time?”

“Looking for inspiration, I guess,” Steve said, his gaze steady but his fingers twitching.

“Uh huh.” Sam didn’t look convinced. “Unless you control that spider creature. Or,” his gaze shifted to Bucky, “you know that spider creature.”

Bucky shrugged, giving away nothing.

“See, thing is,” Sam said, turning his attention away from Steve. “We looked you up, Barnes, and until about a decade ago, you aren’t in the records. Your face, though, it’s in a lot of pictures and  
photographs … over the last century. 107th Division in World War Two, wasn’t it?”

Bucky shrugged again.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Could be, y’know, a distant relative, but we couldn’t seem to find anything like that. And I’m sure you know enough about Stark to know he went deep.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and sighed. “What do you want?”

“We wanna talk to you, man,” Sam said.

“And then?” Steve demanded.

“And then…” Sam trailed off.

“Spider had moves,” Clint said, coming around the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee. “Maybe it’d want a spot on the Avengers.”

Steve and Bucky shared a look.

“Sorry, Clint, but we ain’t saying shit,” Steve said flatly. “Not ‘til we know what you mean in full.”

“We?” Clint asked, idly taking a sip of coffee.

Steve folded his arms. “You talk to both of us, or none of us. You oughtta know this by now.”

Sam looked at Bucky. “You want him to come?”

“Of course,” Bucky said. “Like he said, we ain’t admitting to anything and we certainly ain’t agreeing to anything. But if you think you got us all pinned down nice and neat, then if hearing you out would get us off our back, we’ll listen.”

“That’s all we ask,” Sam said. “You two free now?”

Steve looked at Bucky, who nodded.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “We’re free.”

“Alrighty, then,” Sam said, turning towards the door. Clint threw back his head and drained the coffee as if ignorant of its searing heat. He set it down with a chink on the counter and ambled out after Sam.

“You sure you wanna go?” Steve murmured to Bucky.

“Like I said, it’ll get them off our backs,” Bucky replied in kind. “You sure you wanna come?”

Steve glared at him before marching away from Bucky towards the door. “‘Til the end of the line, jerk.”

“Yeah, yeah, you punk,” Bucky said fondly, trailing after Steve. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, folks! Please let me know what you think because I honestly really enjoyed writing this story and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome. As always, I'm looking for feedback on characterization, storytelling, etc. If you see anything, let me know! This isn't beta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out!


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